


Corvus

by Linorien



Series: 007 Fest 2019 [7]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, inside of body on outside, its a bit gross, reflexive humor from author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien
Summary: Nothing like having your guts spilled out on the floor Jurassic Park style to prompt some bitter thoughts.





	Corvus

**Author's Note:**

> Angst prompt table - Disembowelment

At a time like this, he hadn’t figured his only thought would be ‘I told you so.”

Q had told M that he was not suited to the field. And this mission especially should’ve been done by someone else. Nevermind that it required sneaking into a conference reserved for the elite in the tech world. Any one of his staff could’ve gone. Some of them had even been through partial agent training. Q never had. So of course it didn’t make sense to send him in. 

And he knew too much. He was naturally curious, naturally sneaky. And really too smart for his own good. He forgot himself when he was around other genius engineers who could understand his jargon. And then he revealed a little too much. Had just too much foreknowledge of things that hadn’t been made public yet. Or alluded to technology his lab had developed years ago and he thought others had by now, but no one had even thought to test. 

It set people on edge. 

He didn’t blend in at all. 

They found him. 

Faster than you could say ‘quantum entanglement’ he was whisked away to this positively medieval torture chamber and his bodyguard was left in the conference center without him. And even if he wasn’t strong in a fight, he had a strong will. 

They wanted information, but they would not get it. They could beat him, they could whip him, they could break his fingers, but he would not talk. He had known, as soon as he woke up down here with no memory of leaving the terrace, that he would not leave here alive. 

This was one of the rare occasions he disliked being correct. 

Feebly, he reached for his shoes, trying not to touch his small intestine that was on the cold concrete floor. He pulled his left one closer and pressed his middle finger against the hidden sensor. There. That would activate the doomsday protocol. At least it would when his corpse and his belongings were taken somewhere within reach of a satellite signal. He hoped his minions could protect his systems until then. 

“Last words?” the computerised voice in his ear asked. 

Did he have any good ones? He tried to imagine the scene when they found him. Slumped against the wall, glasses thrown somewhere, covered in blood, guts on floor, and one shoe in his hand. The death of an agent, not a Quartermaster.

“The fact that I can’t say ‘I told you so’ in person, well,” he paused, dramatic to his last, “I’m gutted.”


End file.
